


This is Not a Poem

by grievingAuthor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse too? But i dont really know if whats mentioned constitutes abuse so, Gen, I had a pretty bad day yesterday, Let it all out, Poetry, and kinda, so um, suicide mentioned, this is the result
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grievingAuthor/pseuds/grievingAuthor
Summary: This is not a poem. Well. It is. But it really isn't.





	This is Not a Poem

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in tears at like, 9 at night after getting in a fight with my dad. A lot of the sentiments in this were written in the heat of the moment, but it doesn't make them any less true.

This is not a poem.

Poems are beautiful things that tell stories.

_ The Illiad _ is a poem.

Shakespeare's sonnets are poems.

Langston Hughes, he wrote poems.

 

This? Is not a poem.

It is not beautiful.

The story it tells is boring.

The author is a mess.

She - I - doesn't write poetry.

She - I - writes pain.

She - I - writes ugliness and bitterness and sadness and she - I - doesn't write poems.

She - I - writes what she knows.

This is what she writes. 

 

I want to die.

My parents say I need to grow up, that I need to respect them. They don't respect me.

I wonder if my dad remembers what happened before Christmas last year. We got in a fight with his dad. I was nearly disowned because I “couldn't take a joke.”

Dad admitted to having a bad relationship with his father growing up. I can't help but think about that right now.

They don't respect me.

They've never respected me.

 

They say I don't like confrontations. I don't think they realize why.

I don't like confrontations. Every time I get confrontational I get beaten. 

Or i get yelled at.

Sometimes I just get slapped.

I always end up in tears, my complaints thoroughly ignored.

I think I’ve stopped trying that.

Now I just let it stew.

 

I don't want to let it stew.

I can't talk to anyone about it though, not without my dad getting pissed off and yelling at me.

Is this what being abused is? Or is this just life? Either way I don't like it. I want it to end.

 

I wish I was dead.

I wish I’d never existed in the first place.

I wish that I had the courage to take the coward’s way out.

Or to leave.

Or to speak up.

Mostly I wish my parents loved me. But that's the least likely of my wishes to come true.

 

It doesn't matter to them that I haven't been a little kid since I was 7. It doesn't matter to them that I only have one friend I can ever talk to in real life.

All they care about is school.

And me getting a second job.

And respect.

And growing up.

And losing weight.

And letting my sister do whatever she wants.

 

All I want is to disappear. They won't care. If they do they're faking. No one cares about me.

I’m no one.

I’m nothing.

Forgettable.

Ugly.

Broken.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

An embarrassment.

A burden.

I wish that I was gone.

 

I wish that I was grass.

Or a worm.

Or the air.

Something people have a use for.

But no.

Not me.

I’m useless.

 

I’m tired.

Tired of fighting. 

Tired of trying.

Tired of being tired.

Tired of being.

Please. Just let me sleep.

 

For once.

  
For ever.


End file.
